


bent into order

by santanico



Category: Coolgames Inc (Podcast) RPF, McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Communication, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mouth Kink, complicated adult emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 10:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11553465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: “I used to be able to shotgun shitty beer in like, ten seconds flat.”Griffin raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah?”“Oh, yeah,” Nick says, grinning at Griffin’s tone. “You know, college parties, drinking games. Who can finish it fastest, races, that kinda stuff. I was good at it. I was widely admired.”Griffin laughs. “That’s something you wanna brag about?”Nick says, “Yeah, of course. What’s stopping me? It’s a talent.”“Could you still do it?”“Shit, don’t test me, dude. I can do you one better. C’mere.” Nick’s not tipsy enough to justify this, but he likes Griffin so much, and it’sfunto be like this, to show off. “Pour it down my throat. I don’t even need to do it.”





	bent into order

**Author's Note:**

> \- there's some mild freaking out in a sexual situation in this fic, but it's not due to any consent issues and there's like, no angst imho? but heads up on that  
> \- there's talk about drugs and some drinking  
> \- some of the dirty talk is bordering on mean but nowhere near how mean it's been in previous fics lol  
> \- this wouldn't exist w/o my Beautiful Girlfriend who brought up the Concept again last night and i just ended up...writing 5k in one day what ok byeeee

They hook up for the first time in Nick’s hotel room in New York. It’s closer to the Polygon office and they kiss outside the building, up against the brick wall, until Nick pulls back and grins. He knows his face is twitching, nervous fidgets in his bones, but Griffin is looking at him with his glasses fogged up and his lips parted and none of that matters.

For once in Nick’s life, it’s someone else who’s impatient. Griffin warms him with his palms, carries lube in his jacket pocket and shakes his head sharply when Nick raises an eyebrow. They end up just jacking eachother off, a messy affair that ends in loud laughter, and Nick doesn’t care who hears, or who rolls their eyes. Griffin goes down on him the next morning before they have to go to work.

Pat’s the first to figure it out. Then Tara. Then Clayton. Then Allegra, Simone, Ashley - all in one go, with a gasp over lunch. It somehow becomes gradual knowledge and Griffin shrugs, sticks his tongue out at Justin. Nick tries not to think about how dizzying it is to see Justin frowning at him, tries not to wonder what Griffin’s oldest brother is thinking.

-

Griffin has a way of licking into Nick’s mouth that makes Nick think about sucking dick.

Not getting his dick sucked; he notices that, immediately. Somehow, Griffin’s tongue, the curl of it hot on the roof of his mouth, the solid press under his own tongue, the push of it on his closed lips.

Then Griffin draws back, stares at Nick’s mouth, nips at his bottom lip.

Nick finds it so easy to sink to his knees, or curl up between Griffin’s legs, to just sit there and focus and kiss Griffin’s thighs. Of course he wants to be touched. But there’s nothing more intimate to Nick than pleasing Griffin with his mouth.

They just don’t _talk_ about it.

-

Griffin makes Nick dinner.

Which is sweet, Nick thinks, pointing out where he keeps all the pots and pans.

“Andy never washes them,” he says. “So some of ‘em are a little crusty.”

Griffin’s mouth turns downward but then he laughs. “Sometimes I feel like we’re totally different generations.”

Nick elbows him. “Now you’re the boomer and I’m the entitled millennial? Griffin.”

Griffin shrugs. “It’s just funny. The ways we’re the same. The ways we’re different. Oldest brother,” he says, gesturing at Nick, “youngest brother.”

Nick rubs at his nose, sighs. “Do I seem like an oldest brother to you?”

“Do I seem like a baby brother to you?” he counters.

Nick grins. “You do,” he says. “All the time. It’s hard to separate you from that, you know, when it’s all I knew you as for like, a couple of years.”

Griffin snorts, but he’s staring ahead as he puts a pan on the stovetop, flicks on the flame, starts to stir the chopped up vegetables with the butter.

“You cook, though,” Nick says. “Better than I do.”

Griffin glances at him. “You could learn.”

“Do I have to?”

“No. Well, maybe.”

“I like having you here. It changes the mood.”

“I hate to be like this, but can you toss that Chik-Fil-A bag. I can smell it from here.”

“God. I take it back. You’re the big brother.”

Griffin laughs, but Nick shoves the fast food bag into the trash and then takes the trash out of the can. “I’ll be right back,” he says, touches a kiss to Griffin’s neck. He laughs as Griffin jumps, and jogs outside to the trash bins.

The stir fry Griffin makes is simple but delicious. Nick spends the dinner praising Griffin through mouthfuls of cauliflower and broccoli, wiping soy sauce from his chin. Griffin smiles, hands him a napkin.

“Sorry,” Nick says. “Do you think I’m gross?”

“No,” Griffin says, “of course not.” He presses his elbow to the table, chin in the palm of his hand. He’s looking at Nick, just staring, and Nick tries to make eye contact but finds every time he does, Griffin blinks, then his eyes trail down.

Nick holds the napkin to his face, rubs it across his lips and his chin. It comes back clean.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither does Griffin, and they don’t talk about - it seems obvious to Nick, but maybe Griffin thinks he was being subtle - when Griffin, thumbing over Nick’s jaw, says, “Can I fuck your mouth tonight?”

And Nick, because he has no restraint, can’t fake a thing, sinks easily to the floor.

-

They’re in Austin, and Griffin agrees to let Nick crash at his place after SXSW.

“Shit, dude,” Nick says. He’s buzzed and exhausted but it’s only eight o’clock. “Shit.”

“I gotta pee, hold on.”

Nick ends up lying flat on his back on Griffin’s couch. Griffin comes back a moment later and says, “Ya thirsty, buddy?”

“You know me,” Nick says.

Griffin comes back with two cans. “Sit up,” he says, nudging Nick’s ankle with a socked foot. Nick scoots to the end of the couch, takes the beer that Griffin holds out to him.

“Shit. This is good shit.”

Griffin shrugs. “I’m thirty years old, Nick.”

“Look, I learned to take a shitty PBR. How do you think I survived college?”

Griffin snaps open his can, takes a sip. “I dunno. Though I guess you weren’t into weed, so.”

Nick grins. “Big brother,” he reminds Griffin, and Griffin laughs.

“Travis is the first person I ever smoked with. He was a big stoner, for a while. Then he got bored, which was fine. Yeah, I was too nervous to talk to Justin about it. But he wasn’t a saint, either.”

“Sure,” Nick says. “I don’t know. North Carolina wasn’t really - you know, wasn’t really a big weed place.”

Griffin snorts. “West Virginia, same thing, I s’pose,” he says. He takes another sip of the beer. “Austin’s very different.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick says. “I think we’re both gonna stink of it until we take...three showers? Total? Even though we didn’t smoke.”

“Probably,” Griffin says.

Nick looks at the beer. He still hasn’t opened the can. “I used to be able to shotgun shitty beer in like, ten seconds flat.”

Griffin raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick says, grinning at Griffin’s tone. “You know, college parties, drinking games. Who can finish it fastest, races, that kinda stuff. I was good at it. I was widely admired.”

Griffin laughs. “That’s something you wanna brag about?”

Nick says, “Yeah, of course. What’s stopping me? It’s a talent.”

“Could you still do it?”

“Shit, don’t test me, dude. I can do you one better. C’mere.” Nick’s not tipsy enough to justify this, but he likes Griffin so much, and it’s _fun_ to be like this, to show off. “Pour it down my throat. I don’t even need to do it.”

Griffin turns a bit, looks at Nick as if trying to figure out how serious he is. “You can have mine, if you just don’t wanna give yours up.”

Griffin looks at his can. “That’s not it,” he says after a beat of hesitation. “Okay, fine, let’s do this.”

Nick giggles and sits up against the back of the couch. Griffin scoots closer and Nick puts his unopened can on the floor. Griffin’s staring at him, unreadable.

“Open your mouth,” Griffin says.

Nick does as he’s told. Griffin’s hand touches his jaw, tips his head back.

“Ready?” Griffin says. His voice is a little low, a little quiet.

“Hell yeah,” Nick says, his head still mostly static. Griffin lifts the beer, tilts it into Nick’s mouth. He hasn’t done _this_ in a while, the only vibrant memory a girl he was sleeping with pouring a bottle down his throat until he was sputtering and she was laughing and then they’d fucked in her kitchen and said nothing more of it. Griffin’s slower though, and there isn’t much beer left in the can. It’s good beer too, so Nick kind of savors it, doesn’t think about much else.

Griffin breathes in deep through his nose, lets it out, stuttering, through his mouth. He moves the can away from Nick’s face and Nick swallows again.

“Crisp,” he says. “Kinda apple-y.”

“Yeah. I’m a fruit guy, what can I say?”

Nick tries to think of a joke but nothing comes to mind. Griffin’s hand is still on his jaw.

“Hey, Griff?”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Griffin doesn’t say anything, his fingers hovering on Nick’s skin, just barely grazing his facial hair. They draw across his jaw, and then - Nick’s entire body lights with it, like Griffin’s thumb on his bottom lip has struck him like a match. Nick goes still, closes his eyes.

Griffin’s thumb traces his bottom lip. It’s soft, sensitive and ticklish, and Nick resists the quiver that starts at the bottom of his spine, threatens to make his entire body shake.

“Open your mouth?” Griffin says.

Nick stiffens but drops his jaw. Nick opens his eyes to see Griffin smiling. Every second is some kind of stand-still, bullet-time, Nick thinks. Griffin’s thumb slides into his mouth, presses against the tip of his tongue. Nick’s mouth stretches wider, he wants to accommodate, wants to impress, doesn’t know how that works because it’s just his mouth, there isn’t anything special there, why should Griffin care?

“Jesus,” Griffin says, soft and under his breath, and Nick whines.

Griffin’s thumb circles the tip of Nick’s tongue, slides underneath, pad pressing against the backs of his teeth, nail against the inferior. Then Griffin draws back and looks at Nick and Nick drops his gaze, drops his hands, goes slack against the couch.

“Nick, you’re…” Griffin says, but he trails off, shakes his head. “Christ,” he says, and Nick wants to whimper and wants to beg Griffin to touch him again, but if he says something and Griffin realizes, if Griffin’s just curious, if Griffin’s just teasing, then it’s too much. So he stays still, mouth open, and waits.

“Are you just - God, Nicolas,” Griffin breathes, and now it’s two fingers, his forefinger and middle, rubbing along the surface of Nick’s tongue. Griffin curls his fingers and Nick’s jaw stretches further, his tongue sticking out. He doesn’t close, doesn’t suck. Griffin’s looking at him, not in the eye, gaze lingering on what must be Nick’s throat.

The tip of one of Griffin’s finger’s grazes Nick’s soft palate. His throat flutters.

“Holy shit, Nick,” Griffin whispers. Then he goes quiet, his fingers drawn back, resting on Nick’s tongue. Nick takes a risk, tightens his throat to swallow without closing his mouth. Griffin lets out another hardened breath. “Are you okay? I’m not…”

Nick nods. It’s the best he can do. He’s fine. How can he make it more obvious how fine he is?

Griffin seems to steel himself after that, shifting closer. He removes his fingers from Nick’s mouth and picks up the beer from the floor, the one Nick had forgotten about.

“I don’t want your mouth getting dry,” Griffin says. Nick would be nervous - and he is, still - except that Griffin’s voice is shaking. So there must be something happening, something right.

“Okay,” Nick croaks, surprised he’s able to even say the word. Griffin smiles. Snaps the beer can open and feeds him sip by sip. It does help, and Nick has to assume it’s not completely disgusting that his breath smells like beer, or that he still smells like sweat. Maybe Griffin just doesn’t care. That’s something else altogether.

Griffin leans over to set the beer can down and straddles Nick’s hips. Nick tenses as Griffin’s thighs squeeze at his sides. Griffins rubs Nick’s shoulders for a couple of seconds until Nick relaxes again.

“There you go,” Griffin says. “Open up.”

Nick’s brain all but shuts down at the words. Nothing else matters in that moment, nothing except for making Griffin happy, pleasing him, impressing him. Nick doesn’t know how to do that but he trusts he’ll figure it out, catch up soon enough. Griffin touches his tongue again, this time with his left fingers. It should be gross; salt and dirt and dead skin, but Nick finds he doesn’t care, barely even considers it as Griffin nudges his tongue to one side of his mouth. Griffin strokes the inside of his cheek, and holy shit, that shouldn’t feel as good as it does but it shoots right to Nick’s dick.

Not that he wasn’t already hard. It just hadn’t mattered, until just now.

“Is it silly to tell you how pretty your mouth is?” Griffin breathes. “How fuckable it looks?”

Nick makes a sound in the back of his throat. _No, no, tell me that forever_ he wants to say, but he doesn’t, because Griffin’s pinching his tongue between his fingers now, dragging it from his mouth.

Nick’s cock throbs. Griffin’s just inspecting him, staring at his throat, staring at his open mouth, and Nick’s starting to drool, just a little bit at the corners of his mouth, and his jaw is starting to ache because Griffin’s holding him open with his other hand, his index finger hooked under Nick’s upper lip.

He can’t look good like this. He must look ridiculous.

Griffin doesn’t seem to care.

Griffin sits forward a bit, yanks a little harder on Nick’s tongue. Nick half-gags and lets himself be pulled. 

Then, with a suddenness that almost shocks Nick into tears, Griffin lets go. Nick almost says something, would choke out some pathetic, desperate plea, but Griffin’s palming his cock.

“This getting you off, Nick?”

Nick freezes. Griffin’s palm is firm pressure and Nick’s knocked out of his dream-state.

“Griffin, can you,” he starts, and Griffin must see the frantic look on Nick’s face because he pulls back, rolls off.

“Nick?”

Humiliation rolls over him in uncomfortable waves, drowning out anything normal in his head. He knows Griffin wants it, knows _he_ wants it, but it’s too much.

So he says that. “It’s too much,” and Griffin doesn’t touch him, just says his name again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Nick mutters, shaking his head. “Oh, God, shit, sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, hey, Nick,” Griffin says, and now his voice is so soft, so close. “Can I touch you? Just - can I touch your back?”

Nick nods.

Griffin’s hands are warm, broad, total comfort.

“Take your time. _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to push.”

“You didn’t,” Nick says. “No, it’s not, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Griffin says. He starts to gently scratch Nick’s back through his t-shirt. “Hey. How about you take a shower, and then we can play some Pokemon or something?”

Nick takes a deep breath, looks up at Griffin through his fingers. Griffin’s askew glasses. Khaki shorts, striped polo. Nick can’t believe it, looking at him, but he smiles, nods again.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, let’s do that.”

He spends too long in the shower, under the hot spray. He debates jerking off, but by the time he doesn’t feel so guilty about it, his hard-on has mostly subsided and it isn’t worth the effort. 

Nick puts on clean underwear and a t-shirt after stepping out of the shower. His face is blotchy red and he got enough shampoo in his eyes for that to suck as well, but he’s okay now, better. He goes to the living room, sits down next to Griffin, looks at him.

Griffin puts an arm around his shoulders, kisses his temple.

“Sorry,” he says against Nick’s damp hair, “I stink.”

NIck doesn’t ask why Griffin didn’t just join him. He knows. And he’s grateful.

-

It doesn’t come up again, at least not immediately. Nick makes peace with this fact - Griffin doesn’t want to push and Nick doesn’t know what to say. How to explain it, when everything else feels perfectly normal? Perfectly centered. They spend hours FaceTiming, even outside of their Skype calls. They joke and they flirt in videos and the podcast and none of that matters. It’s easy, being with Griffin. That’s all Nick knows. So he settles, and forgets about it, except occasionally when he’s alone in bed and the memory hits him, vibrant and hot, and he jerks off so fast and hard that he comes in three minutes flat.

But then he forgets. And when they are together, there’s too much fumbling to bring it up. Why would he? It’d be a waste of time, too much hollow _talking_ in a world where they just need to get things done. So Nick doesn’t hyperfixate when he catches Griffin staring. And he doesn’t say anything when Griffin sucks hard on his bottom lip. 

He’s happy. It’s more than enough.

-

They’re kissing in the dark, in Nick’s bedroom.

Griffin’s visiting for a week. A blissful, perfect week, with them both working in the same office every day, seeing each other, going home together.

Griffin rolls on top of Nick, presses him flat into the mattress. It isn’t urgent. The lights have been off since eleven. Nick had been sure they’d both fall asleep but instead they started kissing and now his lips are going numb but Griffin isn’t stopping.

Griffin’s cock is hard on his thigh but Griffin isn’t grinding or moving any faster. It’s just there, next to the weight of Griffin’s leg. Familiar, something Nick wants to adapt to. And Griffin’s kissing him, his tongue sweeping long and swift across his lips, sliding into his mouth, pushing Nick open. Nick closes his eyes and lets every vibration sink into his skin.

It only becomes truly distracting when Griffin tugs at his bottom lip. Nick lets his mouth open further, and Griffin’s tongue dips towards the back of his throat, solid curls of it against the inside of Nick’s cheek. It’s kisses like this that remind Nick that they slot together perfectly, both want the same things, but Nick can’t focus on how happy that makes him with Griffin gripping his lip between his fingers, tugging his jaw open.

“Griffin,” he whispers, hoarse against Griffin’s mouth.

Griffin presses open-mouthed kisses to Nick’s throat, sucks on his pulse for mere seconds before Nick starts to squirm.

“Sorry, sorry,” Griffin breathes. “I won’t leave anything embarrassing.”

“Griffin,” Nick says again. He hates that he’s breathless, loves it all the same.

“Yeah?”

Griffin tips towards Nick again, strokes his face. There’s enough light leaking into the window above the bed that Nick can make out the outline of Griffin’s mouth, his teeth in his bottom lip, gently worrying it. 

Nick’s voice sticks in his throat. He arches up, presses into Griffin. Griffin and his solid weight. Nick’s eyes flutter shut.

“What is it?” Griffin says, when Nick doesn’t reply.

“I just…” Nick goes quiet. Griffin drags his knuckles down Nick’s face, so slowly. Nick tilts his head to the side, opens his mouth. He wonders how clearly Griffin can see him. His heart is making a racket in his chest, unbelievable pounding that shudders through his ribcage. Griffin’s thumb grazes his lip but the movement is unintentional, Nick can tell, because even as he reaches out, tries to make the digit back into his mouth, Griffin pulls away.

“Sorry,” Griffin breathes.

“Jesus Christ,” Nick says. “Griffin, turn on the light.”

Griffin scrambles off of Nick and flicks on the lamp next to Nick’s bed. Nick sits up, leaning against the headboard, and glares.

Griffin’s less intimidating like this. Less intense. Funny, in a way. His hair is a mess and his cheeks are a little blotchy. His cock is tenting his boxers and he seems to notice at the same time that Nick does, because he shuffles, grabs one of the pillows and places it on his lap.

“Really?” Nick says. He can’t help it, all the exasperation leaking into his voice. Griffin scratches the back of his neck. “Griffin.”

“Nick,” Griffin says, “what did I do?”

“I - ” Nick starts, cuts himself off. He deflates with enough immediacy that he sags into the pillow. “It’s what you aren’t doing.”

“Nick,” Griffin says, “I can’t read your mind.”

“God,” Nick says, scowling harder. He wants to be mad and to snap and to make a fuss and stomp off but just as he’s thinking it, he realizes it’d be an utter waste of time. “Sorry. God. Sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

“Nick,” Griffin says, shuffling closer on his knees. “Talk to me. I’m sorry if I’ve - if I’ve missed your cues, or whatever.”

“Ever since I freaked out, you know, that freak out, about my - about you…” He stops, bites his lip. “It’s not like I wanted you to just - pretend my - like it doesn’t…”

Griffin is sitting still, waiting, watching Nick with wide eyes.

“My mouth, Griffin, Christ,” he finally says, hoping it’ll break through.

“Oh,” Griffin says. His shoulders drop. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

Nick groans. “I hate this. This is so stupid.”

“Hey,” Griffin says, but he says it so softly that Nick’s heart starts to melt. “It’s not stupid. Really. And I get it, not knowing how to - how to say something. God, Nick, you know I love - I want it, too. I was just - I didn’t wanna - overwhelm you?”

“I know. I know that, I do,” Nick says. He sighs. These conversations, the ones that they have to have, the real ones, they always feel so exhausting. And it’s already late. “It’s just...it’s like being taken apart,” he says.

Griffin nods, slow. “Yeah,” he says, under his breath.

“But when you tease like that, God, it’s even worse. It’s so unsatisfying.”

Griffin snorts. “Okay, I think I get where you’re coming from.”

Nick sits on his knees, reaches out to cup Griffin’s face. “I just - that day, I was so tired, and you did so much, and it was so good, and I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to talk about it, I still don’t, but I want...I want it. I want it so bad.”

“Want what, Nick?” Griffin says, but it’s not that he doesn’t know, Nick can tell he knows, can see it in the way Griffin’s chest rises with every breath. 

“God, I…” He’s frantic, trying to figure out how to phrase it. What does he want? “I want your hand in my mouth. I want - I want you to stretch my jaw as far as it’ll go. I want you to fuck my throat with just your fingers. God, fuck.” He looks down, blood rushing to his face and his dick at the same time. How can Griffin still make him so nervous, after all this time?

“Right now?”

Nick looks up again. He has to, has to check to see if Griffin’s being serious. Griffin’s eyes are dark and hooded, but somehow sweet. Nick’s cock is already starting to ache.

“Would you?”

“Anything,” Griffin says within the second.

“How do you want me?” Nick says, because it’s the only thing he can think.

Griffin’s entire face opens up. He smiles, his eyes widen. He pushes the pillow off his lap, knee-walks into Nick’s personal space. “Here,” he says, shuffling next to Nick. “Let me behind you. Yeah, get between my legs."

“I - okay,” Nick says. He settles between Griffin’s thighs, and it is comfortable, Griffin’s chest against his back, Griffin’s legs on either side of him. And yeah, there’s also Griffin’s dick, a hard line against the small of Nick’s back. He resists the urge to squirm against it.

“Here, lemme…” Griffin trails off. His right arm bumps Nick’s shoulder. Nick waits as Griffin arranges them. Griffin holds Nick’s head, right hand in his hair, bicep on his shoulder. Balance. Nick tips his head back and Griffin pets his hair.

Griffin doesn’t ask this time, and something about that is so rich that it shudders through Nick’s chest. Griffin’s fingers tap on his lips and Nick opens his mouth, stares at their legs pressed together as Griffin strokes his tongue. Griffin’s slow, drags the pads of his fore and middle fingers along the thin skin of Nick’s inner cheeks, presenting equal attention to each side.

It doesn’t take long for Nick’s jaw to begin to strain, but he holds steady because Griffin is being so sweet and indulgent and Nick’s been jerking off to thoughts like this for weeks. He hasn’t managed to conjure up anything quite as good in his own imagination.

And Nick’s remembering - Griffin’s fingers are _thick_. Not unreasonably so, but they do still fill up Nick’s mouth. He presses his tongue between them, revels in them parting at his touch, then how Griffin exerts further pressure to fuck his fingers into Nick’s throat.

Nick’s gag reflex has always been kind of weak, an interesting problem to have that most dudes have taken advantage of, with or without Nick telling them about it. Griffin - Griffin, who has maybe too much restraint, now that Nick really thinks about it - still goes so fucking slow, even though he knows, even though Nick wouldn’t want anyone else to touch him like this.

The tip of Griffin’s middle finger, the short nail, grazes Nick’s soft palate, the lightest touch. Nick’s throat tightens, instinct. Griffin, for the first time, knots his fingers into Nick’s hair and groans.

“Nick,” he says, dragging Nick’s head back inch by inch, his fingers still lingering on Nick’s tongue. Nick wraps his lips around Griffin’s knuckles, sucks lightly. “Your throat feels so fucking good, holy shit.”

Nick hums, presses back against Griffin. He squeezes Griffin’s thighs. Griffin lets out a shaky breath. 

“You can’t even fathom it, can you?” Griffin says, his voice dropping an octave. “How gorgeous you are, wrapping your tongue around my fingers like it’s my cock.”

Nick groans and Griffin drives his fingers back towards his throat. Nick squeezes his eyes shut.

“You probably like this just as much as sucking dick. Probably more, from the looks of it.”

Nick’s already dizzy. Griffin’s voice is so perfect against the shell of his ear, and Nick’s cock is so hard it hurts, and Griffin is so fucking _right_.

“Want me to jerk you off while I stuff my fingers down your throat? Would that make it easy for you?”

Nick chokes out another moan, Griffin’s fingers muffling most of it. He’s so fucking glad his roommates agreed to stay at a friend’s while Griffin visited. He owes them.

“You’ll take my fingers ‘til you can’t anymore. But you’ll keep trying. Is it because you’re just so desperate to please me?” He can hear the tense line in Griffin’s voice, the fear that everything he says is going to be too much. Nick cants his hips, digs his nails into Griffin’s thighs, bites gentle at the fingers in his mouth.

“Fine,” Griffin says, letting go of Nick’s hair. “Stay still for me. That’s right.” They shift so Nick is seated perfectly center of Griffin’s thighs. Griffin pulls his fingers out of Nick’s mouth and shoves them, unceremonious, into Nick’s boxers. Nick has been trying to ignore the wet spot from his leaking cock on his boxers for the last several moments, but there’s none of that as Griffin starts to stroke him, hard, spreading the wetness from the tip along the shaft.

“Griffin, Griffin, please,” Nick manages to choke out, and Griffin sighs, the motherfucker, sighs like he’s impatient and not achingly hard against Nick’s ass. Griffin doesn’t need to open Nick’s mouth this time - he’s ready when Griffin’s right hand reaches his mouth, holds him open. He scrapes his teeth along the skin and Griffin laughs and gives Nick’s cock a hard, warning squeeze.

“Be gentle,” Griffin says, and starts stroking Nick again, jerking him hard while his fingers play in Nick’s mouth. His jaw hurts from being stretched so much but the hurt only aches in his cock, and he remembers how good it feels, to be so easy and pliable and wanted. 

“Gonna come just ‘cause I’m fingering your mouth, huh?” Griffin breathes, hooking his fingers against Nick’s tongue as if to make his point. “You’re really that fixated, aren’t you?”

Nick nods, leans into it. Dignity doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. He’s so close and he knows he’s gonna come and make a mess all over himself but that seems secondary to the satisfaction of the act.

“Nick, Nick, God, I want you.”

It’s so easy, so simple, requires no extra effort on Griffin’s part, but Nick’s entire body tenses, coils up tight, and he gasps hard around Griffin’s fingers and comes in Griffin’s palm, spilling until he can feel the hot stickiness on his boxers and his skin.

Griffin jerks him gently through the aftershocks until Nick slumps back against him, breathing hard. Griffin removes his fingers from Nick’s mouth, his hand from his boxers.

“Shut up,” Nick says, as Griffin’s chest rises when he takes a breath.

Griffin starts to laugh.

Nick laughs too. Long, giddy peels of laughter.

-

“I’m glad I yelled at you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Griffin says from under Nick. He flies home tomorrow. Nick’s been kissing him all day, and he still hasn’t grown tired of it.

“Maybe it wasn’t yelling,” he says, straddling Griffin at the waist. “But I’m glad I said something. Otherwise you’d still be driving me crazy.”

Griffin picks up his hands and pushes them under Nick’s shirt at his back.

“Sure I’m not still capable of doing that?” he says, grinning.

“Shut up, doofus,” Nick says, and knocks their noses together as he leans down to kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> @[kevinspaceyvoice](https://kevinspaceyvoice.tumblr.com/) for short prompts and chatting etc!
> 
> edit: HOLY SHIT Y'ALL sixwuhzit drew this [fucking beautiful illustration](https://sixwuhzit.tumblr.com/post/163198494996/well-heres-some-filth-i-guess-thanks-to) based on this fic and i'm losing it. please shower him in praise and reblogs because it is so goddamn spectacular.


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